Macbeth, Act 2, Scene 1

How goes the night, boy?

How is the night going, boy?

The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.

The moon has set; I haven't heard the clock.

And she goes down at twelve.

And she sets at twelve.

I take’t, ’tis later, sir.

I think it's later than that, sir.

Hold, take my sword.—There’s husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose!

Here, take my sword.—Heaven is being thrifty; their candles are all put out. Take this as well. A heavy call to sleep lies on me like lead, and yet I don't want to sleep. Merciful powers, hold back in me the cursed thoughts that our nature lets loose when we rest!

Give me my sword.—Who’s there?

Give me my sword.—Who's there?

A friend.

A friend.

What, sir, not yet at rest? The King’s abed: He hath been in unusual pleasure and Sent forth great largess to your offices. This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up In measureless content.

What, sir, not in bed yet? The King has gone to bed: he has been in unusually good spirits and has sent out generous gifts to your servants' quarters. He greets your wife with this diamond, calling her the kindest of hostesses, and he closed the day in boundless contentment.

Being unprepar’d, Our will became the servant to defect, Which else should free have wrought.

Because we were unprepared, our wish to entertain him was held back by our shortcomings, which otherwise would have worked freely.

All’s well. I dreamt last night of the three Weird Sisters: To you they have show’d some truth.

Everything went well. Last night I dreamed of the three Weird Sisters: they have shown you some truth.

I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time.

I don't think about them. Still, when we can find an hour to spare, we would spend it in a few words about that business, if you would give the time.

At your kind’st leisure.

Whenever it suits you best.

If you shall cleave to my consent, when ’tis, It shall make honour for you.

If you will side with me when the time comes, it will bring you honour.

So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchis’d, and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell’d.

As long as I lose no honour in trying to increase it, but keep my heart free and my loyalty untainted, I'll listen to your advice.

Good repose the while!

Sleep well, then!

Thanks, sir: the like to you.

Thank you, sir: the same to you.

Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.

Go and tell your mistress to ring the bell when my drink is ready. Then get yourself to bed.

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:— I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before.—There’s no such thing. It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes.—Now o’er the one half-world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain’d sleep. Witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate’s off’rings; and wither’d murder, Alarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost.—Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it.—Whiles I threat, he lives. Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

Is this a dagger I see in front of me, with its handle turned toward my hand? Come, let me grip you:—I don't have you, and yet I still see you. Deadly vision, can't you be felt as well as seen? Or are you only a dagger of the mind, a false creation coming from a fever-heated brain? I see you still, in a shape as solid as this one I now draw. You show me the way I was going; and that is just the kind of weapon I meant to use. Either my eyes are being made fools of by my other senses, or they are worth all the rest: I see you still; and on your blade and handle there are drops of blood, which were not there before.—There is no such thing. It is the bloody business I am about that shapes this sight for my eyes.—Now over one half of the world nature seems dead, and evil dreams abuse the sleeper behind the bed curtains. Witchcraft celebrates the rites of pale Hecate; and withered murder, roused by his sentinel, the wolf, whose howl is his signal, moves like a ghost toward his purpose with stealthy steps, with the ravishing strides of Tarquin.—You solid, firmly fixed earth, do not hear my steps, whichever way they go, in case your very stones cry out about where I am and break the present horror of this moment, which now matches it so well.—While I stand here threatening, he stays alive. Words breathe cold air on the heat of deeds.

I go, and it is done. The bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell.

I go now, and it is as good as done. The bell is calling me. Don't hear it, Duncan, because it is a death bell that summons you to heaven or to hell.